Tightrope Like Dental Floss
by genies
Summary: Two girls sit on a telephone wire as thin as dental floss. They know the risks.


**A/N:** written for Caesar's Palace's Challenges by the Dozens challenge, level 4, and for the Caesar's Palace Prompts (Tergiversate).

* * *

Two girls sit on a telephone wire as thin as dental floss. They know the risks.

The dark haired one scrunches her nose and her dotted freckled make new constellations. She is afraid of falling, and for good reason. Flying is not so exhilarating when the ground approaches.

Teetering back and forth has always made her nervous. But she clenches her fists and reminds herself that she would like to live. Before she dies, thank you very much.

The flaxen-haired one kicks her legs forward playfully, and they both stumble to catch their balance. She knows she might not live, but she intends to live, before she dies, thank you very much.

(The first girl thinks she might die, too. There's no guarantee, especially with big boys playing their hand.)

It takes a while for them to get on the tightrope.

They don't really ever meet, but by the end of the first day, Clove feels as if she knows all she needs to know.

She knows that One is terrible.

She can shoot a bow, but can she shoot a bow while moving? If her skill sets are what she's showing off, which is generally what careers do to get in the alliance, Clove thinks she probably can't.

But what's most important is that she knows all of One feels fake, only good enough to fool the Capitol and most of the other tributes.

One looks over at Clove, her blue eyes telling secrets, and Clove shivers.

.

One is playing her part perfectly, orange fluff surrounding her like a sea sponge, which Clove thinks just suits her, since she and the sea sponge have about the same IQ.

Clove has no trouble coming off the way her Mentor wanted her too, but she can't help but think that it will be One getting the parachutes, because it's so obvious who the rich Capitol sponsors would rather come out of the arena. It pisses her off a bit.

Clove couldn't care less what One is wearing, but each of her giggles cuts her closer to the bone, and she feels money and glory slipping through her hands.

 _Stop that_ , she tells herself. She can kill One without any sponsor's help.

.

The first night falls and Clove is pulling all her cards to get the tent. So far she's used the "childhood friend," the "I saved your life," and the "I thought we were friends," card, but even she knows the last one is a lie. She's not sure she has much else she can say. But oh, does she _do_ things when One kisses Cato's cheek and touches his arm in just the right way, and the stupid boy gives her the sleeping bag instead.

Glimmer is only a teenage girl; who would blame her for inviting Clove into the tent with her with a little pout and the lamp behind her lighting up her shadow _just so_?

Clove is only a teenage girl; who would blame her?

When she enters the flap, not caring that the boy on first watch can see her (even though she's about a hundred yards away from the campsite), but caring enough to hide a knife close to her side, One pulls her down into the down of her sleeping bag and straddles her hips like a puzzle piece snapping into the right place.

Clove isn't scared at all. She brings her knife up to One's throat, close enough for a clean shave.

"I should kill you." Clove was never good at holding her tongue. "I could tell them that you got me under you and and I killed you in self defense."

"You could."

And like bark finally breaking, Clove doesn't care about getting out of the tent, and all she cares about is getting her in in in (she doesn't know why) and it hurts a bit but she's used to pain.

.

The next morning is a beautiful one. The sky is blue and the sun is looking particularly realistic and the birds everywhere are screaming their good mornings.

Clove makes sure to wake up first so she gets to wake up at all. She emerges from the tent, thinking about how she fell asleep there but not quite believing it.

She rubs her eyes, walking, and she stops.

 _I'm not seeing anything. This is nothing. I'm fine. This is not a big deal._

She sees nothing.

(Nothing, meaning bloated bodies and eyes still frantic)

Clove was supposed to be on watch, oh god, and Cato is dead and Lover boy is dead, and Eight is dead, and Cato is dead and-

But One, she and her stupid tent are still alive.

Clove has the thought to stab her in her gut before marring her pretty face and it wouldn't be too difficult since One is groggy and most of all unarmed.

She turns, grinding her heel into the dirt, drawing a knife.

She hears leaves crunching and imagines bones breaking, and when a blonde head emerges from the greens, she growls.

"You're alive."

And she's so angry she can't speak or say anything else, and there's something eating her from her intestines out, and she _hates it_.

They're a whirlwind of fists and kicks, tumbling over the tracker jackets' dead bodies, squishing them with their backs.

When they stop moving, Clove's knife is buried between One's ribs and One's breaths are sputtering like the wings of a dying butterfly.

Clove twists the knife and pushes her off the tightrope.

But as One falls, she grabs Clove's ankle.

Clove really should have learned to keep track of all of her knives.

"I'm not so stupid, am I?"


End file.
